With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Pudding with a Pop
What they don’t tell you about a culinary arts class is that it’s a lot of work. More than when you cook in your own kitchen. We meet three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And now that the introductory classes are done, each class is supposed to be broken down into a different category: demonstration day, when Chef Ayden teaches us a new skill and we practice it; recipe day, where Chef Ayden leads us through a new recipe; grading day, where we have to follow the recipe on our own and get graded. Technical quizzes happen at the top of every class as we prepare for the ServSafe test. But we’ve yet to make a recipe on our own.
And so, for the last two weeks, second-to-last period every other day I walk into the kitchen, button up my white jacket, put my hair up in a pineapple, and tie on my head scarf, ready to get to my burners. But honestly, we spend more time cleaning than we ever spend cooking. We are always washing our knives, wiping down our cutting boards, clearing our stations, sanitizing our areas, putting things away from drying racks. It’s exhausting work and I know, like me, some of the other seniors were hoping for an elective that was going to be a little less intense. We’ve already had two people drop the class; both Sharif and a girl named Elena decided they’d rather have a study hall, so now our class is only a tiny group of ten.
Although I dread the quizzes, which are on everything from serving food to preparing it, I like the bits and pieces we learn about running not only a kitchen but a restaurant. I would hate to make someone sick with my food, and that’s what I try to remember when I’m studying for quizzes. But I just want to get to the part I’m good at: cheffing it up.
And today, for the first time, we are given a real recipe: making chocolate pudding from scratch. We stir cocoa and cornstarch and sugar together, then stir in milk. Chef guides us step by step and we all clean our stations as the pudding chills. As I’m putting away my ingredients, a little red bottle in the pantry calls my attention. I snatch it up and sprinkle some on my pudding. When Chef Ayden calls us up to test our dishes, I’m the first student to set my bowl in front of him. He grabs a clean plastic spoon and pulls my dish closer to him, leaning down to inspect it, turning the dish slowly in a circle. “Mmm. Nice chocolate color, smooth texture; you made sure the cream didn’t break, which is great. And I’m curious what this is on top.”
He takes a tiny spoonful and pops it into his mouth, and the moment his mouth closes around the spoon his eyelids close, too. I wonder if my cooking woo-woo will work on him. “What is that?” he asks, his eyes still closed. I assume he means the spice on top and not whatever memory may have been loosened by my pudding. His eyes open and I realize the question was in fact for me.
“I used a little smoked paprika,” I say. Heat creeps up my neck. I hadn’t even thought about what would happen if I used an ingredient that wasn’t in the original recipe.
“You trying to show off, Emoni?” Chef Ayden asks me very, very seriously.
“No, Chef. I wasn’t.”
“The ancient Aztecs too would pair chocolate with chipotle and cayenne and other spices, although it is not so common now. Why’d you add it?”
“I don’t know. I saw it in the pantry and felt the flavors would work well together.”
He takes another spoonful. Chef told us from the beginning that since every student is evaluated, he would very rarely take more than one bite of any single dish. I’m surprised he does so now, but he closes his eyes again as if the darkness behind his lids will help him better taste the flavors. His eyes pop open.
“This isn’t bad.” He drops his spoon. “Emoni, I think creativity is good. And this, this . . .” He gives a half laugh like he’s surprised he doesn’t know what to say. He clears his throat and it seems almost like a memory has him choked up. “This is delicious, but I want to make sure you follow the ingredients list. If you work under a chef and they give you clear directions, it’s disrespectful to try and modify their recipe without first consulting them. Whether or not you think the flavors will work.”
He takes another spoonful of my dish. “Class! Everyone grab a spoon. Come eat Emoni’s chocolate pudding.” A couple of the boys begin snickering and I know they took his comment the dirty way. I don’t drop my head, but I’m blushing and it’s from a mix of both pride and embarrassment.
When we leave Culinary Arts, Malachi runs after me.
“Yo, Santi, you should have seen your face!” Malachi laughs.
Although class ended several minutes ago, I’m still flushed. “I can’t believe he said that like he didn’t know y’all got nasty minds!”
Malachi laughs again. “I don’t think Chef sees humans when he looks at us, only white jackets and chefs-in-training.” He lowers his voice. “And to be fair, it was really very good pudding.”
I swat him on the arm. “Stop that. Oh my God, I can’t go back there.”
He laughs again. “You’ll be fine.”
“You have a nice laugh,” I say, and I must look as surprised as he does that the words left my mouth. “We’re still not friends. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Thank you. You have a nice laugh, too, even though I rarely hear it.”
“Don’t say thank you. And don’t pay it back. That wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation.”
Malachi shrugs and calls over his shoulder, “I won’t, Santi. And I haven’t laughed that much in a while. So thanks for that, too.”